Summer Nights
by orquideasenfermas
Summary: Settled in Tom's years in college, his flat roomate and Carlos Santana, will they find a way to get rid of the heat? My first Tom Hiddleston fanfic,Reviews please!


It had been one of the hottest afternoons of summer and to make matters worse the air conditioning in the apartments where we lived had broken down, leaving us with the only alternative of open windows and a fan that barely cooled the place.

The lighting of the room gave the impression that the sun was about to set down making way for the night as i anxiously was praying for it to be a little cooler than previous hours. I opened my door to let air circulate a little more, and I saw that my roommate was also affected by the high temperatures that the intense summer had brought.

Not long ago had I been transferred to this campus to study arts and by coincidences of fate I met him in the school cafeteria. After a few months of hanging around we decided to share the house, we were just two students supporting each other to succeed. We split the expenses, bills, and when the situation was a bit more critical, meals.

Even if the age difference prevented us from sharing classes on campus and the tasks and projects in the afternoon, we were always together for dinner. Today was no exception, and we had exchanged a couple of words, exams week took a lot of time and dedication. We finished a quick dinner consisting of frozen food and complaints about the weather and we went back to his room after cleaning.

Despite having in hand a glass full of ice and water and holding my hair in a ponytail, heat was still affecting me, like my colleague who was in the next room working on his computer, writing probably an essay on some literary work. It was common in his career.

Return to the bench in front of the canvas I continued working in the oil painting for my visual representation class that the teacher had asked for my final exam, a pretty shoddy copy "Kiss" by Gustav Klimt, in my opinion.

Passing the back of my hand across my forehead to wipe off perspiration i mentally kept complaining about the temperature. I needed to distract myself and needed fast.

"I know, music!" I said, almost in a whisper.

"Excuse me?" He said from his room.

"Do you mind if I play some music? The heat is shutting down my head and I need to forget the hellish heat doing here "I said wiping my forehead again.

"If you give me a minute there's no problem, I'm almost finished," he said standing up to put a large amount of paper in the printer.

"Sure, let me know when you're done" i finished the small conversation, returning to the table where my paddle was lying, extracting a little more white painting of the tube I took a new brush new, trying to form a color that could convince me. i wiped the excess of my hands in the old denim shorts I wear every time I had to do work that involved getting stains, "another dot to the collection" I said to myself. I shook the old and now very loose T-shirt enough to let some air into my chest, I didn't know what else to do to get rid of the feeling of sweat.

I kept mixing, trying to find the terracotta color for the background, not to mention the stress of finishing along the dreadful weather was despairing me when suddenly, a voice got me out of my trance.

"ok, you can put music now" he said leaning against the door frame giving me a tired smile, if it was due to the heat or the exhausting week we were having, I couldn't tell at the time.

Despite of having his arms crossed I noticed that the first three buttons of his shirt were undone and for slight moment I wanted to suggest that if he wanted he could take it away, but I instantly expel this idea of my head, and with a sigh I decided to go to my closet, where I kept some of my CDs. Even if I had all the music in my laptop I kept them for the nostalgia of my home, not so much for music.

We once agreed that a radio was therefore necessary in the living room, in addition to larger speakers, it gave us a variety of music and we could connect our iPods whenever we wanted. After searching for a while I found the colorful cover of which I knew would give me inspiration to finish.

I walked into the room, feeling my feet on the hall floor much cooler than my bedroom while I pulled the disc from its case, feeling like I was being followed. I put the box on the table in the small room and instantly I saw of the corner of my eye how he picked it up curiously, giving several turns.

"Forgive my ignorance, but who is Santana?" He asked.

"Basically the best guitarist not only my country but worldwide," I replied, smiling as I watched the machine swallow my disc.

Allowing the disc to run I didn't skip any track, after all there wasn't a Santana song that was not good. I went back down the hall listening to his footsteps behind me, he also was barefoot.

The first track started playing, "samba pa'ti" and automatically my body relaxed as I entered to my room to resume my work. Surprisingly, he did not returned to his, on the contrary, he followed me and again he stood on the threshold, unlike now his hands were in the pockets of his pants. Another of his buttons was undone.

Achieving the needed color so I got ready to start filling in missing gaps, it seemed as if the music really helped. The following strokes were much simpler, and although I did not know how long I had worked, I noticed the passing of the minutes thanks to him that every so often changed his position straightening the sleeves of his sirt and wiping some sweat his forehead.

The disc was playing, after a couple of songs that go unnoticed due to the high level of concentration I was putting into my work began "Europa". The sultry strum of the strings made me close my eyes for a moment; my lungs releasing a sigh that I didn't knew that I was holding. As the song progressed so did the night, unfortunately for me it wasn't refreshing, but I wasn't paying much attention because my main focus was my project.

I was about to put the finishing touches when one of his movements made me to lift my eyesight, his hand now resting on his chin, his long fingers rubing his lips.

Now his shirt was fully open.

He began moving toward me, and as he was making his way through the room I could see a drop of sweat ran down her chest, slowly lowering on his abdomen. My lips parted slightly, completely dry by the heat of the night. Santana continued to fill the air.

He stopped beside me and after the longest seconds of my life he began to analyze my painting, examining every detail, his tongue soaking his lips. He stepped back, and when I thought he was about to go almost in a whisper he said to my ear:

"How are you able to hear this kind of music and not notice the heat rising?"

His voice was hoarse now, and his tone held nuances that as long as he lived with me had ever expressed. I turned my head towards him, and I could not help but open my eyes, his gaze had become more intense, darker.

"I-I do not know what you mean" I replied, a poor argument of course. His actions were more than enough to leave me speechless.

The tension between us was uncontrollable when a drop of sweat slipped ofr my neck, passing over the edge my collarbone, his eyes following it as he stretched one of his long fingers, tracing the path that perspiration had drawn on my skin.

I closed my eyes wrapped in the sensations while in the background the beginning "Black Magic Woman" started to sound. At that time I did not know whether for better or for worse.

I could feel the rest of his fingers fell on my neck while his other hand grabbed my waist forcing me to stand up, our lips crashing. Tht kiss that started slow and soft gradually became a sensual one, while his hand now ran all over my back, approaching me over to his body. I could feel his tongue playing with my bottom lip, and as my mouth slightly opened he overtook me, exploring me, fighting for dominance.

I couldn't help letting out a little moan when he bitten my lip, feeling how his smile turned evil. My hands dropped the brush and palette and took his shirt, stripping him of it at last, feeling his back, caressing his chest, pushing him toward the center of the room.

He despoiled the old T-shirt I was wearing he got down to my neck, his even hotter kisses on my skin, his hands through my body, going from my hips to my chest, cupping my breasts in both hands, without breaking the union.

I slowly lowered my hands to his pants, undoing the belt along the button and zipper, and sliding them down his legs, until he was in his underwear, which marked his arousal. I was about to get rid of another of my clothes when I was stopped,

"Let me do it, give me that pleasure."

Listening to his voice, always so soft and gentle, now giving me orders and speaking that way excited me even more.

I removed my hands and felt how with a simple pull my short pants were gone, his hand now played with the waistband of my underwear, lowering and raising his fingers in different places. I turned to him, almost begging for him to end my agony, and suddenly his long fingers were in my center, playing almost in a mean way, snatching moans while my hands roamed his arms as my nails did a little digging on his skin.

He moved two steps back and brought me to bed, his hand away from my south so he could kiss me again, now more desperate, while his hands undid my bra. Returning to cradle my breasts, he broke off the kiss to lower his lips a bit more, moving from my shoulders to my nipples, tormenting them with his tongue, making slow, gentle circles to bite gently seconds later, while his fingers massaged my clit, softly pinching it, spreading my legs a little bit more.

He moved away again from me, and lifting my legs got rid of the last of my clothes, leaving me completely naked. His smile was different from what I was used to: always being sweet and sincere, now full of perversion, which made him even more desirable.

Opening my legs, he left me totally exposed. Standing in front of my bed he seemed tall and impressive. He started kissing my legs kneeling at the same time to reach the inside of my thighs, sucking and licking them, giving me the clues so I could figure out what he would do later. When he reached the exact point between my legs my eyes closed with pleasure. I stroked his golden locks meanwhile he and his mouth studied every inch of my being, and what in the begging were moans had now turned into cheers for more.

His hands caressed my legs, slowly climbing up them until his fingers slowly began to slowly enter into me, almost like a personal pleasure to hear my pleas for him. After a few moments he gave me what I was asking and both fingers made their way inside me, looking for my special spot, and without much trouble finding him his tongue was still doing magic.

I felt like my whole body heat gradually fell at my bottom when he stopped, leaving me completely, and standing up again, his erection was now prominent trough the fabric. I knelt on the bed and gaining my revenge I got rid of her boxers as gently as I could, and revealing the swollen limb.

Gradually I started to kiss it, running my tongue from tip to base passing by his testicles to return to the top. By completing my tour I introduced the tip to my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring his taste, rubbing both hands in its base, while my tongue was sliding a little more. The sounds that tore from his throat confirmed that I pleased him as much as he had done me.

His hand took the rubber band undoing the ponytail, my hair dropping on my shoulders and my back while entangling his fingers in my scalp. I looked up and realized that the simple fact of having me at his mercy turned him on even more, pushing him slightly inside me even more to feel his first drops burning down my throat.

I reluctantly forced him out of me, leaving an almost imperceptible thread of saliva, and he brought me for another kiss, both savoring our essence.

Coming closer on one of his knees, the mattress gave away his weight as he opened my legs, my throbbing arousal asking with urgency to be soothed. I laid on the pillow and felt his hands caressing my face as I felt him entering me, slowly but with determination, making me moan his name over and over again.

He smiled with his second thrust, now my legs around his waist. We started the dance that was now complemented perfectly with the music, the sultry and forbidden guitar tones that only few were abble to play in such a passionate way.

"_'got your spell on me baby _

_Yes, you got your spell on me baby, _

_turning my heart into stone _

_I need you so bad, magic woman, _

_I can't leave you alone"_

His pace began to increase, along with guttural sounds that were caused because and for me. Our eyes met again and this time the kiss that followed was a calmed one, patient, as only true lovers would be able to give to each other. We parted and I could not help getting lost again in his eyes, now kinder, addictive. Unable to speak we let the sound of our bodies mingle with the music.

My arms crossed his chest once more, holding to his neck, another drop of his sweat fell on my chest and my body arched in response to him, his closeness seemed almost magnetic.

My body began to tense and I knew I could not take it any longer, and as the minutes passed his thrusts became more intense, violent, I could feel it throbbing inside me.

I hold him tighter to my body, his ear next to my mouth. In that moment I revealed to him the biggest secret that my body possessed, as my body felt indescribable sensations, releasing along with him, his thrusting falling down gradually, allowing us to recover our breath.

We stayed hugged with each other for several minutes, not wanting to distance. He turned onto his back and bringing me to his chest as he removed a strand of hair from my forehead to kiss the top of it and giving me a smile. His eyes had recovered their tenderness.

I was about to fall asleep when he said almost whispering with a tone that held a hint of mockery:

"I am almost sure that no matter how great Santana is, he is not going to put the finishing touches to your painting, love."

I gave him a mean and at the same time playful look and reluctantly left his side, feeling the lack of strength in my legs. I was about to crouch down to reach my clothes and he cut my action:

"No, stay like that, please. Let me see how you're free at the most." His request was almost a favor.

I smiled and bend down to give him another kiss, this time lasted only a moment and I returned to the canvas, the paint still wet. Slowly I bend over to pick up the palette and brush, listening to the movement of the sheets along with the mattress, and I could see as he rose slowly from the bed, his body was exhausted, probably the same as mine.

The last song of the CD started to play as I gave some touches of lighting and shadows at the rhythm of "Oye Como Va". The atmosphere felt lighter now and air of the hall now entered fully into my bedroom, shaking the curtains of the window. A chill ran down my spine and in that instant his arms surround me, lifting my face slightly to give me the last kiss of the night, just like in the painting.


End file.
